


Relearning how to brother

by coudric



Series: Family's Sins. [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Brothers, Family, Hurt/Comfort, mention of rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:22:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25023862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coudric/pseuds/coudric
Summary: [A 'what-if' side piece for "Into these deep waters" diverging from the second chapter]After Tobirama had begged her to bring back Hashirama, Tōka - sought him out. Drunk and mad and with too many truths on her tongue, but she did. And unleashed something she could have never seen coming.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama & Senju Tobirama
Series: Family's Sins. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686550
Comments: 48
Kudos: 304





	Relearning how to brother

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitsunesongs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunesongs/gifts).



> I know, I know - you guys are probably thinking: Another story when the other one's still on-going?! And I _am_ working on the next chapter for idtw, promise! Hopefully, it should be done soon-ish. That said:
> 
> I remember when I posted itdw, in the early comments (chapter 2) kitsunesongs brought up the scenario of Tōka drunkenly seeking out Hashirama and revealing everything to him (and the Uchiha). I've been planning to write something for it ever since and this has been in my drafts for long enough. So, here we are! It's not exactly that scenario 1:1 but close enough and this is not going to be overly long - I don't have the energy for that, lol - only 3 chapters at max. (Also, the warning I chose is more for precaution's sake, for now.)
> 
> If you're all fed up with the pain and hurt in the main series, this might be a small consolation. Or... somewhat, at least. I think?

Hashirama heard Tōka long before he saw her.

He had been busy assisting in the healing halls – and exhausted beyond his limits because he had been here throughout the whole night – when one of the guards Tajima had assigned to him dragged him out rather rudely. Apparently, Madara wanted to see him although, his friend had never sent someone to fetch him before. It was odd and when the messenger led him out of the compound and deep into the forest, he was certain that something was wrong.

For the most part the Uchiha seemed a little friendlier now after he had saved Izuna the previous days, but that didn’t mean that everyone liked or trusted him. Their Elders definitely didn’t and they seemed to have a stronger hold on the clan, and his guards, than Madara did as heir.

Would they try to get rid of him like this, though?

Any doubts stirring within him vanished as soon as he noticed the steadily growing unrest ahead of them.

They were replaced by a heavy lump of dread dropping into the pit of his stomach.

Tōka’s voice was as unmistakable as the familiar ripples of rage vibrating through the ground and seeking him out with deliberation. Whenever she was incredibly annoyed with him, she would force her chakra to spread out over the ground until it violently crashed against Hashirama’s awareness. The sensation was similar to walking over a bush of nettles: his feet burnt with every step.

She was also _very_ drunk if he judged the inhibited, restless output of chakra correctly. He was no sensor, though. He couldn’t pick up on the nuances in other people’s chakra unless they wanted him to and knew how to achieve that – it had taken years for Tōka to get the hang of it – and could do so only through a limited area of ground within his range.

His cousin was drunk and beyond furious, and she wanted him to know.

He faltered, uncertain and unwilling to continue, only to have his guard push him forward impatiently. _Rude_. What was this about? How had Tōka made her way this deeply into Uchiha territory? And why? They could have given him a head-ups! He wasn’t ready for this!

As he stepped out into the small clearing, he only briefly acknowledged the nasty glare Madara was throwing his way before being distracted by the sight of his cousin.

There were three other Uchiha shinobi present, one of them he recognized as Hikaku and another one as Sasuke, who used to be Izuna's personal guard. They were all keeping their distance from Tōka, smartly enough. Tōka's arms were chained to her body and two additional chains sprouting from the ground were wrapped around her ankles, keeping her in place. Although, with her teeth bared as she hurled insults at them and with that wild glint in her eyes she looked _feral_ , she didn’t seem to be looking for a fight – otherwise, there was no way that those bindings could have contained her.

Tōka was a terrifying opponent in any situation, her brute strength other-worldly, but _drunk_ Tōka? He shuddered.

“…ish that cow-?!” She cut herself off abruptly and her gaze zeroed in on Hashirama; it was clearer than he would have expected it to be. And much more resentful, he noted with a sharp pang in his chest. She ceased all of her movements, body going eerily still, breathing evening out. “There y’are!”

“As you can see, she’s here for you,” Madara said drily. He was sitting cross-legged in front of Tōka, gunbai draped over his thighs. The stiffness in his shoulders was the only indication that Madara was agitated. “And making a ruckus while at it. Does idiocy run in your Senju blood? Waltzing into enemy territory alone, is that a tradition now?”

Hashirama winced at the reminder of his own actions a couple of months ago. Granted, it hadn’t been his brightest idea but Madara was his closest friend; where else had he been supposed to look for refuge and support? Besides, Tajima hadn’t executed him yet – the man was far more reasonable than Hashirama had thought at first – so, it had worked out for him, somewhat.

Tōka, on the other hand… definitely didn’t have the same motives as he had.

And despite her hotheaded nature, she wasn’t reckless. Unless in the middle of a battle, she didn’t act without weighing all of her options carefully – yes, sometimes she forced the outcome she wanted even if that wasn’t optional, but that only worked because there had been a chance for it to. Throwing herself deep into Uchiha territory just to… what? Curse Hashirama? That just didn’t sound right.

It was dumb luck that Madara had stumbled upon her first, and Hashirama was grateful for that. Anyone else and this situation would have turned ugly very quickly.

“You really shouldn’t be here,” Hashirama eventually said when the tensed silence around them grew unbearable for him. Being quiet and assessing first was never his forte.

“Neither should ya’,” Tōka spit back. “Fucking traitor!”

He grimaced.

It _was_ the truth. He had chosen this path, had openly supported his clan’s biggest enemy, he _was_ a traitor. Having someone voice his betrayal out aloud shouldn’t hurt like this. His cousin didn’t sugarcoat her words and she knew exactly how to get under someone’s skin; he had seen her do it more times than he could count.

“Is this about uncle Hisashi?” he chanced a guess. There was nothing else that could have driven her to do something as irresponsible as this.

Of course, his defection itself would have infuriated her, especially since he hadn’t told anyone about his spontaneous plans, but she could have sought him out much sooner if it were only that. Although, the fact that she hadn’t… he wasn’t sure how to feel about it, about how she, _everyone_ had given up so easily on him. But then again, his mokuton was the only thing the clan ever wanted from him, wasn’t it?

Hashirama didn’t regret leaving, nor helping the Uchiha where he could, but he wasn’t proud of his latest decisions, either. His uncle was a good person who had always loved him and his brothers sincerely, and he didn’t deserve to be sold out like this. _Yet_.

Months of being confined, his chakra sealed, interrogation upon interrogation while trying to wear down Tajima’s stubbornness had ended up in his own durability being worn down instead. Even Madara’s visits had been rare up until recently. Hashirama had been going _mad_ and Tajima hadn’t budged, insisted that he gave up at least one family member’s weakness as a sign of his honesty. The Uchiha valued family above all else, Madara had explained, and by giving them one weakness he could prove that he had truly abandoned his clan and wanted to support the Uchiha. And in the end, Tajima had kept his own word and didn’t kill his uncle, right?

Hashirama wasn’t proud of it but there were things he needed to do and being locked up by the Uchiha for the rest of his life wasn’t one of them.

Tōka straightened, sneering at him, features contorted into an expression of disgust. “’would’ve already snapped your neck if it were!”

Madara snorted at that but Hashirama couldn’t even focus on anything beside his cousin. Her chakra was in a lot of turmoil and it had his insides burn with acid. If this wasn’t about Hisashi, nor about fighting him, then there weren’t many other options left… His stomach churned uncomfortably. “Tō-”

“Tobi asked for you,” she said, tone suddenly soft but not any less seething. “And I promised him,” she huffed here as if to reprimand herself for that, “I promised him that I’d do anything he asked for!”

_Anija! Come back home._

Hashirama grit his teeth as a sudden onslaught of frustration tinted with something sickening he would rather not dwell on threatened to overwhelm him. Of course. If there was one person who could make Tōka discard her pride and come look for a traitor, it would be Tobirama.

He could still see it vividly in front of him – the glimmer of hurt in Tobirama’s usually stoic face, the way he had tried to approach him without paying any attention to the battlefield, father dragging him off as if Hashirama wasn’t worth it. His own resolve trembling in the aftermath. The scene replaying in his mind again and again whenever he wasn't busying himself with things - like taking care of the wounded Uchiha - and thus, not letting the constant buzzing of nausea within him diminish.

It wasn’t _fair_. After everything that he had done, what right did Tobirama have to behave like this? To make it seem as if Hashirama was in the wrong? As if he cared? What right did he have to be _human_ for a split second when he hadn’t bothered to in a long time?

Hashirama stepped forward and crouched down in front of Tōka, far enough that she couldn’t lash out without breaking her chains but close enough that he could talk in a hushed voice. Knowing that the Uchiha in his back might be able to hear and out of them, only Hikaku seemed loyal to Madara, made him uncomfortable. It was a miracle that none of them had informed Tajima of this yet.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he repeated, carefully controlled. “I already told him that I’m not returning. You’re wasting-”

“He’s your _brother_!” she cut him off sharply, volume rising with each word. “How can you abandon family like this, you piece of shit?!”

His blood was simmering in his veins, vibrating all over his skin. Folding his fingers together, he squeezed them until they stopped shaking and took a lungful of damp air.

 _Brother. Family_.

He did love his family despite what anyone – Tōka, the Uchiha – might think. How could he not? He had practiced how to walk and talk with Tobirama, had taught him how to read and write until Tobirama surpassed him, they had been each other’s comfort in a childhood too short. The older they got, the harder it had been to understand Tobi, yes. Almost impossible with Kawarama and Itama functioning as links between them gone. They were too different – in appearance, in their strengths, in their ideals – but they were still _brothers_.

If it had been only Butsuma experimenting on the sharingan with anyone else assisting him… maybe it wouldn’t have hurt as much. His father was a lost case, he didn’t expect anything humane from that man. Tobi, though? Hashirama couldn’t get that accursed image out of his mind: Tobi kneeling in a pool of blood, two dead bodies sprawled around him, eyes in his palms. It was _wrong_ , sickening, Tobirama shouldn’t-

What did Tōka know?!

She wasn’t unreasonable, she wasn’t dumb or blind, nor was she shy about speaking out if she disagreed with Butsuma even though she rarely pressed her point. But she craved acceptance most of all, recognition as the daughter of someone who didn’t even have shinobi roots, and that made her incredibly loyal. Did loving your family mean you had to ignore all of their wrongdoings? For her, perhaps. For him, no.

They had never seen eye to eye on matters regarding peace because of that; how could she understand what he was feeling?

“This is pointless,” he said tersely instead of letting his tumult consume him. “You’re wasting your time. As long as you support Butsuma, we have nothing to talk about.”

Hashirama had tried to make the clan see reason, but their stupid pride had always been a hurdle impossible to climb. It would have been only a matter of time until his father would have crossed a point of no return – he had known it, others had known it. But still, they refused to listen to him.

He was tired of begging for crumbs of support from his own clan and family.

Tōka chuckled, a bitter sound in his ears tinged with a hint of madness. “That’s easy for…” she trailed off for a moment, eyebrows knitted together in concentration, “…easy for you to say, huh? Strong, powerful Hashi.”

Hashirama frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She stared at him, long and hard and with such piercing clarity that it had his simmering blood freeze. “Why’d you run?”

Behind him, he could sense Madara shift. Madara always radiated so much heat that you could feel it even from several feet away; it was a comforting sensation now, a welcome distraction from the sickening disgust tugging at his stomach.

“You really don’t know?” he wondered, exhausted and upset in equal measures. “Was Tobi too scared to tell you what he and Butsuma have been doing?”

Suddenly, without warning, Tōka snarled and lunged forward, bits and pieces of her broken chains flying through the air. Only his fast reflexes had Hashirama jerk back to avoid a head-on collision. Yet, not fast enough, not far enough – she was on him within the blink of an eye, pressing him down with a heavy thud, nails digging into his upper arms and knees into his hips. What remained of her chains clunk against each other like a foreboding song.

If she wanted to, she could snap his arms like twigs.

She didn’t.

Neither did Madara interfere, although he could see his friend standing at attention in his periphery, and he was thankful for that.

Tōka was heavy; a mass of muscles and strength enhanced further by her chakra. And yet, it was her expression – raw, wild, _that close_ to crumbling – that punched the air out of his lungs, leaving him wheezing.

“Don’t- just don’t…” she growled, lips quivering, words watery. “He’s _twelve_ , Hashirama. Fucking. Twelve! He doesn’t… he doesn’t decide what to do, Butsuma does!”

Despite the lack of air, despite the heavy weight crushing his chest, Hashirama couldn’t fully suppress a twinge of annoyance. “He could refuse-”

“He’s not you!” Tōka screamed, eliciting a startled flinch from him – even Madara jumped, surprised. “None of us are as fucking strong as you, you bastard! We can’t get away with disobeying!”

“Tobi’s his favorite,” he murmured uncertainly. If he were honest, then he had never thought much about his own powers and what they meant for him. The mokuton was what made him valuable to the clan, but was power truly the only reason why he could get away with talking back and others couldn’t?

But Butsuma _did_ listen to Tobirama more than everyone else, more than him. He had always paid the most attention to Tobirama – praise, lenience, small smidgeons of affection – things neither he nor Kawarama or Itama had ever received. And Hashirama was supposed to believe that Butsuma wouldn’t have let it slide if his favorite disagreed with him from time to time? The mere notion… ridiculous.

Tōka’s lips curled upward, half a smile, half a grimace. Her grip tightened momentarily only to slacken shortly after. Shadows danced eerily over her face, making it impossible to determine whether her eyes truly did turn dark or not. It was a foreboding, Hashirama realized, gut twisting terribly with dread that he didn’t understand.

“ _Favorite_. Shit, that’s so fitting, isn’t it?” She huffed; it was high-pitched, resembling more a hitch as if- but. No. Tōka didn’t cry. Right? She leaned forward, smile stretching into a wide, wild grin that didn’t look anything like one. When she spoke again, she might have been trying to whisper but it resonated too loudly into the charged silence of the forest, “Did you know? That…” she paused, brows twitching, lips trembling, before, “…Butsuma looks at Tobi like he’s some cheap whore?”

The world around him stilled.

What?

_What?!_

Hashirama turned his head to the side and tried to catch Madara’s gaze. Madara didn’t seem to notice, he kept looking at Tōka as if seeing her for the first time. He – had heard. It hadn’t been Hashirama’s imagination.

His heart pounded so loudly in his chest that each beat reverberated painfully in his ears.

Tōka leaned back a little, a stream of light catching on her unshed tears. “You’re upset that Butsuma was hurting those Uchiha.” So, she did know about that. “When that sick fuck’s not stopped at his own son!”

“You’re drunk,” Hashirama pressed out through his teeth because- _No_. She was drunk out of her mind. She couldn’t possibly realize _what_ she was implying here.

“The worst thing,” Tōka continued as if he hadn’t said anything, “is that he doesn’t even hide it. We knew! We tried to keep him away from Tobi- but… but…”

If there were any more knots, his stomach would disintegrate into a disgusting puddle of blood and vomit. He couldn’t even fully grasp what the hell was going on. What was this? What was Tōka saying? What…

“Butsuma was furious yesterday. So, so angry.” After the battle. After… “I-” Droplets dripped down on his chin, startling him. “I’ve never seen Tobi cry like that.”

Hashirama threw her off frantically and crawled into a sitting position, arms and legs trembling. He… No. She needed to _stop_. He couldn’t- Butsuma was a madman. Cruel. Fanatic. But there was no possibility, Tobirama was his son! She had to be mistaken or perhaps, he was hearing things that weren’t there. No.

Tōka didn’t move, stayed where she was sprawled on her back, limbs stretched out far from her body, blinking unseeingly up at the tree lines. “I’m there. Father is. Everyone. And… and he still asks for _you_ ,” she spit, full of venom and bitterness and a resentment that only worsened the ache eating through Hashirama’s insides. “Well, it’s not like any of us could protect him. Last night, Butsuma called for Tobi-”

“ ** _Stop_**! Shut up!”

The stunned silence only lasted for a moment before Tōka’s face turned toward him, eyes ablaze, mouth twisted into an angry snarl. “Why? Can’t listen to anyone else but yourself, you selfish prick?!”

“That’s not-”

“He was _crying_ for you! After everything, that idiot wanted you! Not me or anyone else, and… do you even fucking care?!”

Hashirama pushed himself to unsteady feet and turned away from her, the back of his hand pressed tightly against his mouth, eyes stinging painfully. His throat convulsed, bile trying to force its way out.

_He’s twelve, Hashirama. Fucking. Twelve!_

He couldn’t breathe.

_Butsuma looks at Tobi like he’s some cheap whore?_

The world around him wouldn’t stop spinning.

 _He was_ crying _for you!_

“Hashirama?”

Madara’s hands hadn’t even touched his shoulders when he slapped them away on instinct, unable to bear the touch. When he looked up, noting absent-mindedly that the three of them were the only ones in the clearing, Madara was a blurry blotch that only had his head spin more.

“T-Tobi, he…” He swallowed around the bile burning in the back of his throat, still tasting it on his tongue. _Tobi looks like mother_. Was that why? How long had Butsuma had these desires? After Hashirama had left or since before that?

“You need to breathe, Hashirama!”

Breathe? He made a sound, something wet, something between a wheeze and a choke. How was he supposed to _breathe_?

“You do care, huh?”

He whirled around and almost lost his footing as the nausea hit him full force. Grimacing, he buried his fingers in his hair and tugged until it hurt enough to distract him from the dizziness.

Tobirama wasn’t easy to understand which made connecting to him that much harder because Hashirama lacked the patience to deal with anything than wasn’t straight-forward. He was upset that Tobirama always took Butsuma’s side and that he refused to show any kind of emotions. He had been incredibly furious but more so disappointed to see Tobirama involved in torturing Uchiha and experimenting on the sharingan.

If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have been affected like this, would he?

Perhaps, he wasn’t a good _anija_. Not to Tobirama, at least. But Hashirama wasn’t some heartless monster, he wasn’t uncaring or unfeeling.

And Tobirama was his little brother – his first and his last.

He had known that Butsuma was unhinged. On the verge of madness. But _this_? How could anyone even think about doing something like this to their own child?!

_Come home!_

_Tobi asked for you._

A violent, familiar impulse shot through him, demanding his attention.

The mokuton... It was an entity of its own nestled underneath his skin.

There was nothing discomfiting or unsettling about it, never had been. Perhaps because it had been with him since his birth and he hadn’t ever known any other state of being: feeling the constant thrum of _something else_ pulsating through him, the occasional whispers in the back of his mind that weren’t words but still understandable, being drawn to nature like moths were to the light, suppressing the violent impulses to lash out whenever he was angry – it was normal. But sometimes the edges blurred and he wasn’t sure where he began and where his mokuton ended. Was there even any such distinction?

It soaked up his emotions like roots would water and grew and expanded accordingly; in those moments, the blurriness was worst because he could never tell how much of his emotions belonged to himself, how much his mokuton influenced their intensity or how they affected the mokuton’s power.

Anger was the most terrifying feeling, an endless stream pulling him deeper into its depths until breaking out became too much of a hassle. So, Hashirama had taught himself _not_ to get angry – really angry, filled with nothing but pure rage – easily. The last time he had failed had been upon finding Itama’s mangled body. He had lashed out then, accidentally incapacitating his own search squad and lucky enough not to have killed anyone. Finding Butsuma and Tobirama torturing someone had been a close call but his disappointment and hurt had outweighed the anger.

He couldn’t remember, though, if he had ever experienced such hot, delirious rage before.

Slowly, Hashirama lowered his hands, fingertips vibrating with anxious chakra, a buzzing noise filling his ears, and locked gazes with Tōka as he finally took a lungful for crisp air. “I’ll kill him.”


End file.
